


Lies are a Spy's Best Friend

by SammyIAm



Category: Gallagher Girls Series - Ally Carter
Genre: Action, Action & Romance, Action/Adventure, Adventure & Romance, Blackthorne institute, CIA, Cammie and Zach have a daughter, Central Intelligence Agency, Gallagher Academy for Exceptional Young Women, High School, Multi, Original Character(s), POV Original Character, POV Original Female Character, Secret Intelligence Service | MI6, Spies & Secret Agents, Spy - Freeform, Spy School, Zammie
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-24
Updated: 2019-05-04
Packaged: 2019-11-29 12:42:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18223304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SammyIAm/pseuds/SammyIAm
Summary: Matti Goode is about to begin her senior year at The Gallagher Academy for Exceptional Young Women. She is only just beginning to come to terms with the realization that she'll be out spying in the real world soon, and with her parents acting stranger than usual, it seems that Matti's covert operations training may be necessary for use outside of the classroom sooner than she anticipated.Matti’s natural gift for learning languages has only ever helped her in the world of espionage, but it turns out that lying to someone you care about is never easy, regardless of the language you’re using.





	1. The Last Fall

“Mads, I swear to the gods of espionage if you don’t get your butt in this helicopter in the next thirty seconds I am leaving you alone in these mountains to fend for yourself. And I already turned off the cabin’s electricity.”

Why am I supposed to be in a helicopter you ask? Well, the trip back to The Gallagher Academy for Exceptional Young Women after summer break changes practically every year for me; my parents and I never stay in one place together for too long. Conveniently, Mom and Dad have what’s always seemed to me a neverending list of safe houses, so we tend to bounce around from place to place when I’m not at school and they have a break between missions. 

Safe houses? Missions? You’re probably wondering what my parents do for a living. Or not. Actually, you probably already know because if you’re reading this you almost certainly have at least level four clearance. That also means, unless you’ve been living under a rock for the last decade or so (which is a valid and entirely possible excuse in this profession), that you’ve heard of my parents: Cameron and Zachary Goode. Yes, I am the daughter of two of the CIA’s top agents. Yes, I am also the granddaughter of two former top CIA agents (well, technically three if you count my deceased biological grandpa and namesake: Matthew Goode). No, I can’t tell you all about their coolest and latest missions even if I wanted to, because even I’m not allowed to know. 

Surprisingly, I didn’t have to board up with Grandma or Grandpa Joe at all this past summer, which is pretty unheard of for me. Mom and Dad finished up one of their joint missions right as I finished my junior finals, so we were able to spend almost a full month together under the same roof. That is until dad got called out on a brief mission; when he finally got back, Mom had to head out on assignment. They’ve pretty much been playing tag for the last few weeks, but it’s been nice spending some one-on-one time with them too. I’ve learned to live the unique lifestyle that comes with being the daughter of Cameron Morgan and Zachary Goode, but it’s not always as cool as you might think.

The Pros and Cons of Being the Legacy of Two Generations of Top CIA agents:  
A List by Matti Goode.

PRO: Your grandpa teaches you the Wendelsky maneuver before you’re old enough to legibly write your name.

CON: Your grandma forbids you to use it on civilians after an incident with another toddler at playgroup.

PRO: You’ve traveled to every continent and been to more countries than you can remember.

CON: The closest thing you have to a “home” is your grandparents’ residence, which is the only safehouse anyone in your immediate family consistently uses/visits when school isn’t in session. 

PRO: Your parents are the coolest agents in the covert community.

CON: They can’t teach you much if you don’t get to see them very often.

PRO: Your parents are literally living legacies.

CON: Living up to their legacy and everyone’s expectations is practically impossible.

 

Currently, I believe Mom is somewhere in Central America. I overheard something about an arms dealer and an alpaca farm but I was eavesdropping from a vent in the attic at the time, so I may have heard wrong; vent reverb is a thing, and it isn’t pretty. One time I was listening to my parents talk about birthday presents from a vent, and let’s just say I was a little relieved when I got a spyglass for my fifth birthday instead of barre class. Me? wear a tutu? Heck no. 

Since my mom’s out of the country, Dad gets the responsibility of dropping me off at school. They’ve always made an effort to make sure at least one parent is present at the end of summer to see me off to Gallagher, and they’ve never missed the start of a fall term since I’ve been there. 

I took off running from the front door of the safe house with my head tucked into my chest and (somewhat) blindly jump into the helicopter with a small bag in my hand. Most of my things were shipped to the school last week, but my oldest (and best) friend Noah dropped by two days ago after completing his latest mission to wish me luck in my senior year. He handed me a present before he left and told me to wait until today to open it, and I’m mad that he wasn’t here when I did open it so I could properly thank him. 

He got me a first edition Thoelke decoder, in the original Greek. 

I’m pretty sure there are only eight original decoders in the first place, and now I’m the owner of one of them! I called him earlier this morning to thank him, and he said something about his MI6 partner looking for someone to take it off his hands, which I was obviously more than happy to do. Languages are kinda my thing, but I’ll admit I’m not as quick as I’d like to be at decoding greek-based codes; I tend to mix it up with the Cyrillic alphabet. There are too many little nuances and I always get them confused, and the modern editions of the decoder were all updated into the Cyrillic equivalent, which is frustrating when you’re trying to master the original Greek, but I digress.

Noah is my Aunt Bex’s adopted son, and we’ve known each other since I was about seven. Aunt B took him in when Noah found himself a witness to the murders of several ambassadors that she was trying to prevent in London. Instead of handing a nine-year-old Noah over to MI6, Aunt B instead decided to take in the scraggly orphan who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. She brought him to family Christmas that year and we’ve been best mates ever since.

Dad eyed my bag before looking at me, “Mads, are you absolutely certain you’ve got everything?” he asked. He’s the only one who ever calls me Mads, something about him wanting his own nickname for me when I was a baby or something; everyone else just calls me Matti.

“Yes, I’m certain,” I said. I swear, you forget to pack underwear one time in seventh grade and you’re treated like you always forget everything.

“Did you lock the door?” He asked.

“Of course, Dad,” I replied.

“Did you set the alarms?”

“I’m not stupid, Dad,” I told him while covertly rolling my eyes.

“Don’t you go rolling your eyes at me, Madelyn Ann Goode.”

Alright, maybe it wasn’t very covert. I probably shouldn’t try hiding things from a world-renowned spy; or the man who raised me, for that matter. I stowed the small bag in my jacket and gave him an apologetic smile while he just chuckled at me.

I buckled myself into the passenger seat of the helicopter, adjusting the microphone attached to my helmet and taking notice of the flight instruments in front of me. I couldn’t help but mentally thank Mom for taking the snowmobile when she left last week; flying is so much more fun. We did a final check to be certain everything was in working order and Dad glanced over at me with an expression I couldn’t quite decipher. It almost looked like concern, but for the life of me I couldn’t figure out why he would be worried; we’ve flown together like this hundreds of times. I gave him a questioning look but he just smiled,

“Are you ready, Mads?” he asked.

“As I’ll ever be,” I replied.

And then we were off.


	2. Going Back

I was beginning to fidget. We had flown out of the mountains the day before, but the flight from Colorado to Virginia wouldn't have been possible in the mid-range heli Dad had borrowed from his friend. Once we returned the helicopter we boarded a red-eye to D.C. where we grabbed a rental car from the airport. We had been in the rental car for about an hour, and while the long drive was perfect for thinking, it was starting to sink in that this would be my last year at Gallagher. I'd be a graduate soon, and I needed to think about and plan for life after school. Thus the fidgeting.  
I hate fidgeting. I absolutely loathe it. It's a horrible tell for a spy, and I'm usually very good at preventing myself from doing it. I almost broke myself of the habit when I started CoveOps training my sophomore year but, obviously, I wasn't completely successful.  
Apparently, trying to break yourself of a nervous habit during the most stressful academic year of your young life is not ideal.   
When I'm focused and on a mission it's never been a problem, but put me in an enclosed space with someone I trust for an extended period of time? Leave me to my own thoughts? Utter disaster.  
Dad looked over at me while we were at a standstill in traffic and saw me bouncing, so he turned down the 90's hits playing on the radio but didn't say anything. I continued to stare out my window while he just sat and waited, knowing I'd start talking when I pulled my thoughts together.  
"What if I'm not ready to be a spy?" I whispered, barely loud enough for him to hear. "What if I'm not good enough?"  
He didn't say anything and after two long minutes of nothing, I turned my body to look at him. I expected an answer from him. I expected him to say I'm right, and that I was definitely not ready to be a spy. I did not expect him to be laughing at me.  
That's right, he was sitting there laughing at me. He was laughing so hard he wasn't even making any noise!  
My eyes widened and my jaw dropped for a brief moment before I schooled my facial features like I'd been taught and looked back out my window. I couldn't believe he was actually laughing at me. I mean, maybe I wasn't the best spy in the world but I thought I'd probably make out alright; for a few years at least. I would never be as good as my parents, or even my grandparents for that matter but nobody was that good. Those spies are typically few and far between, but lucky me had an entire family tree full of them. If it's genetic, I'm pretty sure the gene skipped my generation.  
So I didn't have the "super-spy" gene everyone else I'm related to had. No big deal. I don't have to be a super-spy, I could just be a good spy, right? Wrong. When you come from a long line of the CIA's best, everyone and their mother thinks that you're destined to be the next James Bond. It's impossible to live up to their expectations.  
Dad finally saw that I noticed his laughter and refused to look at him, and his silent laughter turned into a low chuckle before he finally answered me. "Mads," he started, "nobody is ever truly ready to be a spy. Nobody is ever good enough."  
"That's not true! You and Mom were, you were both better than good enough!" I argued.  
"Oh Mads, no. No, we weren't. Your mom and I were thrust into this world before either of us were ready. Neither one of us was able to finish training before our first, albeit unsanctioned, mission. We were nowhere near good enough, and the only reason we succeeded was because of all the help we had. So much help. Sweetie, we're still playing catch up. The life of a spy is one of constant observation and learning. You will never know everything you need to, especially when you're just beginning. Your mother and I have been at this for over two decades now and we still don't feel that we're good enough."  
I turned my head again to look at him, "But Dad, you and Mom were good enough. You were ready enough to successfully complete your mission. You were good enough to beat the bad guys and stay alive. I don't know if I'll ever be ready, or if I'll ever be as good as you guys. I'm definitely not as good as you two were when you were my age."  
As he listened to me he got this far off look in his eyes, and not for the first time in my life I wondered which part of his past he was reliving. "We made so many mistakes. So many stupid mistakes Mads, and a lot of people got hurt because of them; people we cared about. I know you don't know most of the details because the case is..."  
"Classified," I interrupted, "yeah, I know."  
"Yes," he went on, "it's classified; most missions are. There's a reason for that, but one downfall is that students and future agents like you don't get the opportunity to read about the mistakes and errors that even the greatest of agents make. We try our best to teach you about them in the classroom, in a controlled environment, but the truth is you learn a lot more when you're in the field actually doing the work. That's why you girls spend so much time running CoveOps drills: the closer to reality a situation is, the more you will learn from it and the deeper understanding you will have of what to do when it's the real deal."  
I tried to imagine my parents ever being my age, scared to do what they were so obviously born to do, and I just couldn't. My parents were the two greatest spies I'd ever known (and honestly, that's pretty impressive considering my extended family and all of their friends).  
I hadn't realized it, but enough time must have passed during our conversation that we were now driving up to the school gates. Dad rolled down his window and waved to the heavily-muscled security guard stationed in the booth like they were old friends, which I guess they could have been. It's not a secret that people wanting to get out of the business look for employment at Gallagher first (at least, it wasn't a secret to the spy community... It's a pretty sweet gig, or so I've been told). Muscles waved us on through and we followed the path that led to a roundabout in front of the main doors.  
Dad followed the path with our car and he started talking again. "Mads, you are the smartest kid I know. Definitely smarter than me, and maybe even smarter than your mom. You have been learning the tricks of the trade since you could crawl, and you have excelled at every challenge and obstacle thrown at you. If there ever was someone made to be a spy, it was you, Mads. Don't ever doubt that."  
Holding back the tears in my eyes I gave my dad a wobbly smile as he pulled up to the front doors. Hearing those words coming from him meant so much, even if I wasn't fully convinced they were true. What meant the most to me was that Dad thought that I could do it; he believed in me, and I couldn't let him down.  
I glanced out the window and saw Gallagher girls of all ages, shapes, colors, and sizes hug and smile and chat on the front lawn after an entire summer apart. Dad leaned over and gently grabbed my face, placing a kiss on my forehead before unlocking the car door for me to get out of the car. I savored the moment, knowing that I probably wouldn't hear from him for a while. I slowly pushed open the door, grabbing my bag before stepping out of the car.  
"Matti, I hope you know that your mother and I love you, and we are so incredibly proud of you," Dad said before I could close the door.  
"I do know Dad, really. I love you too," I replied as I shut the car door, turning to search the lawn for my roommate when Dad called out to me one more time through the window,  
"Never quit noticing things Mads, and be careful."  
With those parting words, my dad pulled away, following the path that would take him off the property and back to wherever he'd be sent to for his next mission. I couldn't place my finger on it, but something about this departure felt different than all the others. Maybe something was wrong, or maybe I was still just stressed about senior year. Before I had a chance to think about it too hard, a mass of black hair collided into me, knocking me off balance and sending us tumbling to the ground.  
Natalie McHenry was probably a model in a former life. Standing at 5'10" with long black hair, clear blue eyes and pale skin, she was the spitting image of her mother. Nat was easily the most attractive girl in the senior class, but her best feature was her ability to detect a lie a mile away. "It's about time you showed up! I was worried your parents left you in the mountains or something," she said as we helped each other back on our feet.  
"Not this time," I said with a laugh. "Although Dad did try to there at the end... hey Aunt Macey!" I called to the figure quickly approaching us.  
"Hey Matti, good to see you. Your parents with you?"  
"No, sorry. Haven't seen mom for a while and Dad had to bolt after dropping me off," I answered. "Don't tell him I know this, but I overheard him on the phone a few days ago with the director postponing something in Italy so he could drop me off today. I feel kind of bad, it sounded really important," I said more quietly.  
Aunt Macey got this faraway look on her face when I mentioned Italy, not much different from the expression Dad wore earlier in the car. I went to say something, but before I had the chance to she was shaking the expression from her face and smiling, wrapping an arm around both me and her daughter. "Matti, never feel bad about being your parents' priority; your parents care for you, and that's not something everyone gets to experience in life."  
I didn't know a whole lot about Aunt Macey except that she was mom's old roommate and my parents' friend. Nat's never really talked about grandparents or extended family, and I wondered if Macey's words to me were coming from experience.  
"That mission may be important, but so are you. I was just hoping to see them is all, it's been a while, but I guess we can still go in and see your grandma and Abby before I have to take off too," she said.  
The three of us walked up the front steps and into the mansion, and I couldn't help but think to myself for probably the millionth time how lucky I was to be a Gallagher girl. The foyer was littered with dozens of Gallagher girls speaking multiple languages. The seventh graders were testing out their best Scarlett O'Hara impressions and sure enough, when I glanced at the sign posted outside of the dining hall, it read "English-- American Southern."  
Nat grabbed my attention as we strolled past the sign and continued onto the staircase and up to the second floor, "looks like they're spicing up the welcome-back dinner this year! Southern accents? If they decide to teach a bunch of new dialects this semester you'll be in heaven, Matti."  
I just smiled to myself as we walked down the Hall of History, the possibilities of the different languages and dialects I might get to use at meals now invading my thoughts. I absolutely adored languages; my official total stood at sixty, but those were only the languages I spoke fluently.  
We walked past portraits, statues, and of course Gilly's famed sword as we made our way to the door that led to my Grandma's office. I stepped ahead to knock on the door, and with a brief "Come on in!" I opened it to the smell of burnt popcorn and my Aunt Abby glaring at my Grandma.  
"I seriously don't understand how you can't even cook microwave popcorn Rachel. Microwave popcorn!"  
"In my defense," Grandma argued, "I have never successfully made any kind of popcorn. You could have easily set the timer on the microwave yourself but someone wouldn't get off of my couch."  
Aunt Abby started muttering under her breath, "You'd think a world-renowned spy would have learned how to..."  
Grandma cut off the end of her sentence when she remembered she had guests, "Macey! What a pleasant surprise!"  
The two embraced and exchanged pleasantries, and Aunt Abby actually stood up from the couch to say hello to Macey. "It's good to see you, Mace."  
"You too Abby. How's the shoulder?"  
"It aches in the cold, but nothing will stop me from teaching the little rascals," Abby said as she grabbed me in a hug from the back and ruffled my hair. I brushed her off and gave her a playful glare as I re-situated my curly locks.  
"And I'm grateful for it," Macey replied with a grin. She looked away from Abby and over at us, "You girls are being taught by the best over there."  
Nat and I exchanged a knowing glance as the adults continued to catch up. We both knew that Abby was the best CoveOps teacher a girl could ask for, and we were grateful she was ours. We would be some of the best-equipped young agents after graduation, even if we didn't feel like it quite yet.  
"Girls, why don't the two of you go get settled back into your room before dinner?" Grandma suggested.  
I got the feeling Nat and I didn't really have a choice in the matter, so Nat and Aunt Macey exchanged final goodbyes since she would be leaving to return to D.C. before dinner. With a wave, I grabbed my best friend's arm and we exited the office.


	3. Welcome Home

"So..." I began as we climbed the stairs to our room, "how was your summer break?"  
"It was good," Nat shrugged, "Pretty much the typical stuff; I spent most of it shadowing mom around D.C. like usual. Protected the life of the leader of the free world. Nothing out of the ordinary."  
Nat had been shadowing her secret-service-agent mother for years at this point, so spending the entire summer by her mom's side protecting the President of the United States wasn't surprising in the least. She was practically born to do the job. I mean, Aunt Macey did work through her entire pregnancy; and you didn't hear this from me, but I may have overheard a conversation between the adults about how Mom talked Macey through her birth over the phone. Why you may ask? Well, of course, it wasn't because Aunt Macey was out on the job when she went into labor. Nat totally wasn't born on Air Force One. Wink, wink.  
That story aside, Natalie was incredibly well-suited to shadow her mother, especially while they were stationed in the White House. The President had a son who was a year or so younger than us, and the Vice President had a daughter in college who spent her summers at 1600 Pennsylvania Ave.; Nat could easily pass as a friend to either one of them if her presence was ever questioned by an outsider. More than once over the previous six years she had been mistaken for the President's son's girlfriend. Usually, the White House just let the paparazzi ride with the story, but most people on the inside accepted that they were just friends.  
The important people knew the friendships were just Nat's cover, but I was the only one who knew the entire truth. The press always had it wrong... it wasn't the President's son Nat was head over heels for.  
"Sounds like a good time, Nat. You must have been pretty busy, though. Not a whole lot of time for relaxing, and I doubt you had any time to yourself..." I hedged.  
"I wouldn't say I wasn't able to relax," Nat started, "but I definitely didn't spend much time by myself, if you catch my drift," she said with a sly wink.  
"Oh my god! Do I really want to know?"  
"Matti, you know better than that! A spy never spills her secrets."  
"They do when it's their best friend asking," I muttered. "So, Natalie... how is the Vice President's daughter?" I asked.  
"She's doing well. Really well," she replied with a smirk. If I hadn't been trained to notice the slight discoloration on her neck and cheeks, I might have missed the light blush that overtook Nat's face.  
As I told Nat I was happy for her, I opened the heavy wooden door that led to our common room. Most of our fellow senior classmates were already there, talking about their adventures over the summer and discussing their plans for after graduation.  
Liza Calvillo was telling her roommates about the two weeks she spent in Texas with her parents on a (probably extremely low-risk) FBI op.  
I overheard Ramya Khanna sharing a story about how she "accidentally" used a defensive maneuver that was banned in the '60s on a guy at the pool who was hitting on her and being too touchy; he probably wouldn't be walking normally for a while.  
Leslie Bodner was telling my other roommate, Imelda Russel, how she couldn't wait to graduate and start working for Homeland Security with her older sister. The last two generations of the Bodner family were DHS, and rumor has it that Leslie's grandfather was the deep-cover government operative that prevented the fifth terrorist attack on 9/11.  
No, that wasn't a typo- there was a fifth attack attempt, but that's all it was: an attempt. Leslie doesn't even know the details, but her grandpa is a legend in the intelligence community because of that day. It's said his input was the deciding factor in pushing the initiative to create Homeland Security, and it seems his family tree is now following in his footsteps.  
Family legacies are kind of a big deal here at Gallagher. I mean, we have a lot of them, and nobody seems to forget it. I think that just about every single eighth grader for the last four years has tracked me down and asked me what it's like to have the coolest spies on the continent as parents. Let me tell you, it was annoying enough dealing with the curiosity of my own class the first time around. I tried to get old Professor Buckingham to remove the bit about my parents defeating some unnamed terrorist group in an extremely classified mission while they were both students from the eighth-grade curriculum, but she just stared me down until I was too uncomfortable to stay in the same room as her. I've learned enough by now that it's easier to just skip meals and social gatherings during the third week of classes to avoid any fangirls.  
I think I have it bad, but in all honesty, nobody has it as bad as Nat. She's a direct descendant of Gillian Gallagher; that means while I have to deal with the eighth graders, Nat has to deal with the seventh graders and trust me, there's a huge difference. Incoming students get the run-down of Gallagher Academy during their first week here, and so when they learn that the founder of their brand-new super-cool spy school has a great-great-great-granddaughter that's currently a student here? Well, let's just say Natalie McHenry is a saint for not permanently maiming anyone. Yet.  
Nat and I waved to everyone in the common area before continuing down the hallway to our own room. We opened the door to our suitcases placed on our beds and a frantic Gallagher girl tearing apart her carry-on bag on top of her newly-made bed.  
"Where the heck could it have gone? It was right here!" we heard as we entered the room.  
Gracie Goldstein is wicked smart. I may know a lot of languages, and Nat may be a human lie detector, but when it comes to cracking codes? Gracie's your girl. She can hack into files stored in places so secure that I would probably risk alerting national security if I even thought about them, let alone write it down here... so I won't. The point is, Gracie is a genius, but if you ask her to keep track of something, odds are she will lose it faster than you can blink.  
"Gracie, what did you lose this time?" Nat sighed as she waltzed over to her bed and plopped down next to her bags.  
"My laptop! It was the one with the program I just modified last week to automatically track the online activity of a handful of potential recruits for a suspected terrorist cell. I can't find it in my bag, and I need it to turn in for extra credit tomorrow!"  
"Uh, Gracie," Nat almost choked, "Did you just say you lost a computer with the ability to track terrorist activity? Isn't that kind of, well, important?"  
"Suspected terrorist activity, but yes! It's important! I told Dr. Fibbs I'd have it to him by the first day of classes and I don't know if he'll accept it late for extra credit!" she exclaimed, waving her arms around wildly as she looks over her belongings.  
While Gracie and Nat continued to argue over why losing the laptop was so important, I noticed a silver, metallic corner peeking out from behind the headboard of Gracie's bed. With the knowledge that Gracie's brain wouldn't be the cause of world destruction this afternoon, I calmly made my way over to my things and began to unpack. I was in the middle of pulling out tomorrow's uniform when the bickering across the room became explosive.  
"I cannot even begin to understand how you can be so careless with your things! Let alone the important stuff-- like the codes for tracking terrorists. How the heck do you just lose something like that! How is that not under lock and key somewhere? It should be in a vault! It should be in sub-level three! You should-"  
"Hey Nat," I interrupted, "maybe take a second to breathe there and give the poor girl a break."  
"Don't you start with me, Madelyn Goode! There is no reason that laptop should be missing, and Gracie needs to be less careless with her things! How can you be so calm right now? How are you not freaking out?" Nat cried.  
"Because she knows where the laptop is," Gracie said while narrowing her eyes at me. "Give it up, Goode, where is it?"  
"I don't know what you're talking about," I replied while nonchalantly folding the rest of my uniform skirts in a pile. It's never any fun to give up the whereabouts of Gracie's lost things right away; if I did, I'd never get any cool gadgets from her. Or maybe I would. Gracie isn't one to actually use many of the gadgets she creates, being on the Research & Development track and all. She tends to share her creations with me and Nat for field testing, but only after we bribe them out of her in some way or another. Usually, a chocolate bar will work, but knowing where her lost extra credit project went does just fine too.  
"What's it gonna take Matti? I'm fresh out of grappling-hook heels," Gracie said.  
"While that is disappointing, I know you've got something new up your sleeve, G. You never come back from a break without a new invention," I countered.  
"Fine, I'll give you my new prototype, but you have to give up the goods first!"  
"Yeah, Goode! Give up the goods!" Nat chimed in from her side of the room. She lost interest in arguing and started unpacking while I haggled with Gracie for new gear, knowing I would most likely share whatever I got with her.  
"Ugh, you know I hate it when you do that," I grumbled as I made my way over to Gracie's mess of a bed. The two of them had been making up puns with my last name since before we hit puberty, and I wasn't a fan.  
I pulled on the silver corner of the laptop hiding between the wall and her bed and presented the redhead with the offending item. "Oh, thank Gilly," Nat sighed once she saw the laptop, hugging it to her chest once she had a hold of it.  
"Pay up, G," I say, looking expectantly at Gracie.  
Just then, our fourth roommate peeked in from the doorway. "Hey guys, it's time for dinner!" Imelda called as she quickly whirled around and headed toward the dining hall, her long brown hair swinging behind her. I'm surprised she even stopped by to give us a heads up-- nothing gets between Mel and her food.  
"Later," Gracie promised me as she grabbed my arm and pulled me out of the room, Nat on our heels. We raced through the halls, eager as ever to sample the wonderful dishes the kitchen staff always prepared.  
The Grand Hall was always decked out for the welcome back dinners, and tonight was no exception. The Gallagher crest was embroidered on the drapes that hung from the windows, candles lined tables adorned with silk tablecloths and the floor was polished enough that I could see my reflection in it. The only other times the Grand Hall was ever this dressed up was for the AlphaNet open house and the annual Gallagher-Blackthorne ball.  
The smell of fresh bread and my favorite meal wafted to my nose as we entered the room-- Chef Louis' famous Bouillabaisse. We made our way to our table and sat in our usual seats, itching to dig into the feast in front of us. Chef Louis always went all-out for the welcome-back meals, and by the looks of the food displayed on the tables, this meal would be no different.  
Just as I was about to give in and sneak a roll, the doors at the back of the hall opened and the Gallagher teachers strolled past us to their seats at the long head table. Abby sent me a wink as she walked by, and I couldn't help but smile as I remembered my first dinner in this room.  
I was scared out of my mind, but thinking back I was probably one of the most prepared seventh graders this school had ever seen. I had parents and grandparents who had taught me the way of the spies before I started walking, let alone speaking full sentences. It was no surprise to my family that my first fully-formed sentence was "It's a secret" after shushing my grandpa for asking how I got his encrypted laptop unlocked. Honestly, I had no idea how I did it-- probably couldn't do it again if I tried, but my family found my toddling antics hilarious.  
My first dinner in this hall was where Nat and I had our first conversation and started our friendship. We'd spent the entire evening trading stories about our parents and seeing which one of us got into more trouble for sneaking into and learning about classified missions. It was a surprise when, during my first phone call from mom, I learned that Nat's mom was one of her best friends from school. I'd already met Aunt Bex by that point, so I wondered why my parents weren't as close to Macey anymore, but they soon reconnected after me and Nat's first semester. Dad said they had all just lost touch after having kids, their hands full juggling babies and covert affairs.  
I'm brought out of my memories by Grandma taking her place at the podium and asking, "Women of the Gallagher Academy, who comes here?"  
Gallagher girls from all corners of the world stood in unison at their tables and replied, "We are the sisters of Gillian."  
"Why do you come?" Grandma asked.  
We replied "To learn her skills. Honor her sword. And keep her secret."  
"To what end do you work?"  
"To the cause of justice and light." I couldn't help but smile, this has always been my favorite part of the welcome back dinner.  
"How long will you strive?"  
"For all the days of our lives."  
Everyone sat back down except for Grandma, who remained behind the podium to welcome us all back to Gallagher. She updated us all on the changes that happened over the summer. Apparently, there were furniture updates in the east wing, and new floors were put down in Dr. Fibbs' science lab, no doubt because of the little science experiment he and Gracie tried to perfect last spring. It turns out that putting explosives in mascara tubes is a horrible idea, especially when a ninth-grader mistakes it for actual makeup. Thankfully, the girl wasn't hurt, but it took a few weeks for her eyelashes and eyebrows to grow back in completely.  
As Grandma introduced the staff to the new students, I couldn't help but feel like something was off. Her posture wasn't as relaxed as it typically was on the first night back; she usually didn't get that stiff look she's currently sporting until after the sophomores started driver's ed.  
I glanced over to Nat and Gracie, who seemed oblivious to our headmistress' posture, but when I looked back up at the table I notice Aunt Abby's lips tilted down on the left side as she watched her sister talk. Something was up. Neither of them looked this stressed when I first got here, so sometime between leaving Grandma's office and now, something had upset them both.  
And if something had Grandma visibly upset, it couldn't be good.


	4. Back at it Again

The day classes begin always has a way of bringing out the worst in a Gallagher girl. The common areas turn into war zones of plaid skirts, button-down shirts and extra credit assignments covering every inch of furniture available. The worst part? Ever since their introduction to Gallagher Academy, the students from Blackthorne Institute were regularly scheduled to visit and/or host Gallagher students in the Covert Operations classes. It was no secret that the sophomore class always overdid it on the first day of lessons while trying to impress the boys. Aunt Abby always seemed to take pleasure in sending the students back up to their rooms to change; heels and heavy jewelry were never a good idea for training, especially when it's your first day of CoveOps training. No matter how many warnings the upperclassmen provided, at least a handful of sophomores always went way overboard with trying to impress the Blackthorne boys.  
This year was no exception. CoveOps was the first class of the day for seniors, but since the Blackthorne boys traditionally visited our campus on the first day, all of the CoveOps classes were scheduled for the 0700 time slot. Every year fewer and fewer upperclassmen from both schools returned to the exchange program as students were cut from the CoveOps track of study. Just this past year alone Abby cut four more girls from our track, leaving just me, Nat, and five other girls in the senior class to represent Gallagher in the exchange program. Last year there were fourteen Blackthorne boys in our class, but Noah mentioned to me last week that his old friends told him at least half of the current Blackthorne senior class was cut by the end of spring finals.  
I'd only spent one year in the exchange program at the same time as Noah, but it felt wrong getting ready to meet the boys knowing he wouldn't be there to greet me. Knowing he'd be one of the Blackthorne students was the only reason I hadn't totally freaked out my sophomore year, and last year felt empty without him there too. I knew he was out in the world doing big things with MI6, but a part of me wanted him here this year as my safety blanket before I joined him out in the world of adult spies.  
"Come on, Matti, I want to get to the barn before the sophomores do!" Nat called from the doorway. It was her favorite thing to do every year, watch the sophomores get called out by Aunt Abby. We were obviously smart enough to avoid that fate our sophomore year (and if Noah told you it's only because he warned us not to get caught up in it, he's lying), but we've always been early enough to the stables to make sure we see which sophomores get sent back to the mansion to change.  
I grabbed my too-big gray sweatshirt, that may or may not be Noah's, from my closet and slid it on over black pants before sliding my dirty sneakers on my feet. I remembered to grab my brand new gadget (courtesy of Gracie) off of my bed before leaving. I put the black beanie that doubled as a camera and comms unit on over my unruly, curly hair which I forced into a braid and followed Nat out of the room and down the stairs to the foyer.  
The walk from the main building to the stables was a cold one; it was just past six in the morning and the sun hadn't quite risen yet. Dewdrops painted the tips of the grass and soaked our shoes as Nat and I carefully made our way down the slightly damp hillside. Nat lost her balance tripping over a tree root and almost took me down with her when she grabbed my arm, but we managed to steady ourselves. Neither of us wanted wet, muddy clothes going into this session, but odds were we'd leave class a mess. We always left CoveOps class a mess.  
We reached the barn entrance and saw a sliver of light creep out from underneath the closed doors. Knowing Aunt Abby had probably been here for at least an hour already, I knocked twice to warn her and heaved the doors open. As I suspected, Abby was stretching on a mat after her morning workout, not a hair out of place. I never understood how she managed to look like perfection in any situation, but I guess that was a family trait I missed out on; mom and grandma always looked put-together too while I tended to look like a drowned rat at all times.  
"Hey there kiddo, here a bit early, aren't you?" Abby says without looking up, her body folded in half with her face to the floor while she stretches.  
"Yeah, we wanted to be sure we beat the sophomores here," I replied, grabbing my own mat and making my way over to where she was sitting.  
"Oh, the sophomores. This bunch should be an interesting group, too," Abby commented with a smirk.  
Nat joined me on the floor and we stretched on our mats next to Abby, knowing we'd be thanking ourselves later after we found out whatever was planned for our first day back. Usually, it was some sort of game, but this was spy school. The games we played weren't your typical tag or duck-duck-goose.  
The three of us continued stretching in silence for a few minutes until we heard the wheels of a few familiar vans on the pavement outside. We all stood up and listened for the Blackthorne boys to make their way to the barn; their joking and teasing pronounced in the natural silence of the early morning. Three knocks rang out on the heavy wooden doors before they were easily opened by the exchange advisor from Blackthorne Institute.  
"Hey honey, long time no see," my uncle called out as he walked through the doors with a grin on his face. I had never once seen Edward Townsend smile at anything other than his wife; he had quite the stone-faced mask, which I supposed served him well as a spy. Uncle Ed never mentioned much about his past in MI6, but Abby once told me a watered-down story about the two of them working together on a mission in Buenos Aires before they were a couple. I later found out that he and Grandpa Joe have a rather rocky past. Uncle Ed is technically my only living biological grandfather, even though my Dad doesn't really have that close of a relationship with him. They act more like colleagues or distant relatives than father and son, but it's not really any of my business how my Dad and biological grandfather get along. All I know is that I call him Uncle Ed (even though he hates it) and I see him regularly at school through the exchange program, and on the occasional family holiday. Dad doesn't like to talk about his family or his past, and Mom has warned me more than once not to press him on the issue.  
Aunt Abby smiled at him and made her way over to say hello while Nat and I stayed back to evaluate the Blackthorne students who came back this year. I counted one, two, three... six returning senior boys. There looked to be about twenty juniors and a whopping thirty-two rookie sophomores with poorly-masked terrified looks on their faces. I was happy to see Garrett Newman and Dakota Jackson made it back from the senior class; they were good operatives and I enjoyed working with them. The only problem was when I had to work against them-- the pair were a force to be reckoned with when they were on the same team. Garrett was the definition of tall, dark and handsome while Dakota was more of the subtle-geek type. Garrett definitely looked the part of the spy, but Dakota surprised everyone our sophomore year with his ability to fly cleanly and effectively under everyone’s radar before emerging as one of the best operatives in our class.  
We had been playing capture the flag (and I use the term "capture the flag" loosely), boys vs. girls, and the game was over before we even had a chance to finish forming an offense. Dakota had snuck behind our defensive players (who were focusing on blocking the more-experienced Blackthorne upperclassmen) as soon as the whistle blew and grabbed our flag before we knew what hit us. I'm haunted by that moment to this day, but I'll never underestimate Dakota Jackson's abilities ever again.  
I was disappointed to see Alek Rivers made the cut. It was impossible to miss him walk into the barn with his cropped-red hair and arrogant attitude. He was a Class A jerk, and I was definitely not looking forward to putting up with him or his attitude for another year.  
Garrett and Dakota quickly spotted Nat and me on the other side of the room and made their way over to us. The rest of the upperclassmen took residence near the free-weights on the opposite side of the barn while the sophomores stood just inside the entrance, twiddling their thumbs and trying not to look scared out of their minds.  
"Hey there Matti, Nat. How were your summers?" Garrett asked when he and Dakota joined us.  
Now let me just start by making something very clear. I am in no way, shape or form attracted to Garrett Newman. Sure, he may be the most gorgeous eighteen-year-old to walk the planet of the earth, and sure he's probably one of the greatest spies of our age. Yeah, he's witty and smart and fit and... where was I? Oh, right. I'm not attracted to Garrett; but even if I was, none of it would matter because no boy in the history of the world has ever been or ever will be attracted to me. Period. End of story. Moving on.  
"It was alright, Newman. How was yours?" Nat answered.  
We traded summer stories for a few minutes while we waited for the rest of the students to arrive. It wasn't long before the remainder of the Gallagher upperclassmen made their way down to the stables. The senior classes from both schools joined Garrett, Dakota, Nat and I while the Blackthorne and Gallagher juniors mingled; I waved at a few of the ones I knew from both schools who waved back and then carried on talking to each other.  
At 0655, we could hear a stampede of heels coming towards us from the wooden platform at the barn entrance.  
I leaned over to Nat who was standing on my right and whispered, "This should be good."  
Nat just nodded her head at me with an expectant grin on her face as we waited for the first sophomore to walk in. It was only a few moments before two girls clad in heels, skirts, low-cut tops and a faceful of makeup stumbled through the doors. Not far behind them were the rest of the sophomores, the majority of whom seemed to be ready for a night out on the town instead of field training. The only sophomores I saw who dressed like they were ready for training were Elle Sutton and her best friend Nora Maxwell, which didn't surprise me. Elle wasn't one to be distracted by boys and Nora had a good head on her shoulders too. Not to mention, Nat and I warned the two girls before summer break about the yearly first-day-fiasco.  
I managed to hold in my own laughter while Nat covered her mouth to suppress her giggles. Garrett and Dakota just rolled their eyes and carried on talking. I glanced over at my aunt and uncle and saw Abby standing with a smirk and twenty dollar bill in her hand that wasn't there earlier.  
While Abby sorted out the overdressed girls, Elle and Nora decided to make their way over to us instead of trying to communicate with the slack-jawed sophomore boys who didn't seem to notice the drool running out of their own mouths while their eyes were glued on the retreating figures of the girls leaving to change. Elle looked a lot like her Aunt Liz, who was one of Mom's best friends and the best NSA analyst in the country. Liz didn't have her own kids, but she spent a lot of time with her younger sister's family, which included Elle, so I got to see the lot of them every once in a while when my parents had a spare minute to catch up with people between missions.  
Once everyone was back, properly clothed and ready to begin, the instructors rounded everyone up to explain whatever they had planned for us.  
Uncle Ed started everyone off, "Alright folks! First off, welcome back to our returning upperclassmen; it's nice to see you've made it another year on the CoveOps track. Also, welcome to our newest additions to the exchange program.”  
"Sophomores," Abby carried on, "I want you to take a very good look at your classmates, then I want you to look at the upperclassmen. Boys and girls, if you've noticed that you outnumber the junior and senior classes combined, then congrats, you can count. Covert Operations is a difficult and often dangerous course of study, let alone career. The entire sophomore class is required to take this entrance course, but only a handful of you will continue with the program next year, and even fewer will graduate."  
"Now, to start off our school year, Abby and I have decided to let you all play a little game" Uncle Ed declared while the rest of us groaned. CoveOps games usually ended with, at the very least, bruises that lasted a week.  
"We're dividing up teams so both schools and all grades are combined to make things relatively fair. We know none of the sophomores have had formal CoveOps training yet, but you've all taken the prerequisite combat courses so you aren’t unprepared," Abby said.  
Uncle Ed started calling out names, and while I was pleased to see that Elle and Dakota were both on my team, I frowned when I saw Nat and Garret make their way over to the opposite side of the barn. Once we were all evenly divided into two teams, Abby continued explaining. "So, now that you're all split up into teams, I guess it's time to tell you what you all will be playing?"  
Whispers and murmurs filled the large space as students tried to guess what we'd be doing. The longer Abby waited, the more dread I felt sitting in my stomach. I really needed to start this year off running, but Abby and Ed would never just let us have a normal, easy game to kick-off the new school year. Whatever they chose, it would be difficult.  
Abby grabbed everyone's attention with a loud whistle through her fingers. "Alright kids, listen up! I'm only going to explain the rules once!" When she was sure everyone was listening, she made her way over to the walled-off storage area and opened the doors to step inside. A second later, she emerged with a set of black rifles, one in each hand, and a huge smirk on her face.  
"So, who's ready to dodge some bullets?"


	5. POW

I smiled when I saw the familiar scope attached to the black gun and easily caught the weapon when Abby tossed it over to me. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Dakota easily catch one of the guns while Uncle Ed shoved a few into the arms of some hesitant sophomores. I looked over my weapon and was pleased to find it fully loaded with the safety on while Uncle Ed and Aunt Abby finished arming the rest of the students. I glanced up and saw Nat looking at her gun with a disappointed expression, and Garrett looked as determined as ever. Nat never really took to firearms the way I did, not that many people knew that about me. Guns are a necessary evil when it comes to espionage, and while we are taught how to use them safely, Gallagher and Blackborne don’t encourage their use very often.  
Grandpa Joe always told me that if I had to use a gun in the field, it was probably too late for me anyways. Comforting, I know, but it really pushes you to study hard and think on the fly to come up with non-lethal solutions to missions that go wrong. Everyone wins that way: taking prisoners is almost always better than killing the enemy. An enemy who is no longer breathing can’t spill any secrets, but a captured one...  
“Alright folks, it’s time to play,” Uncle Ed stated as he armed the last of the sophomores. The youngest students frantically looked at one another with horror on their faces while I stood off to the side with Dakota, bouncing on the balls of my feet as I wait for our instructors to explain the rules.  
“Now,” Abby started, “I know for a fact that everyone in here has taken a gun safety course. You’ve all gone through the training…”  
“But that was only with handguns! And those weren’t loaded!” a Blackthorne sophomore interrupted.  
“Yes, I am aware,” Abby replied with a bored tone, giving the boy who interrupted her a glare hard enough to make him stumble back out of fear. “As I was saying, you’ve all taken the safety course and today we are going to both test that knowledge and see how you handle learning new equipment on the fly. You will soon see that, yes, while you are armed with guns and ammo, your weapons are not lethal.” The sophomores looked relieved when they heard this and finally examined their firearms close enough to realize the weapons in their arms were actually state-of-the-art paintball guns. “Your guns are pre-loaded and we will supply you with one pack of extra ammunition apiece. The game is POW. Each team will select one member of the opposing team to act as their initial prisoner of war. The object of the game is to capture all of the members of the opposite team. You become a POW if you are hit in an extremity-- shoulder down or hip down. Torso shots and headshots are automatic kills.”  
“If you are shot in the arm or leg, you will proceed to the other team’s side where they will show you their selected prison site. If you are killed, you will make your way off of the field and onto the sidelines to wait out the game,” Uncle Ed carried on. “For every player your team kills, two points are deducted from your total POW score. If you are killed, your team loses one point. Every POW you have successfully captured at the end of the game is worth one point; the object is to capture the other team, not kill them off.  
If you are captured, you are safe within the confines of the other team’s prison and cannot be shot. You may attempt to escape at any time on your own, but use caution; as soon as you exit your prison you are free game to be shot at and recaptured or killed.”  
“So,” Abby says with a clap, “Teams choose your captains! You have the next five minutes to discuss who’s in charge, who to take from the opposing team as your first POW, and sort out a strategy.”  
With Abby’s instruction, our teams split off with enough distance between us that no one will be overheard. Before I can gather my thoughts I can already see my team arguing about who should be captain. I hear Alek Rivers’ voice loudly arguing that his expertise should put him at the top, while a handful of Blackthorne juniors and sophomores argue that Dakota should be the obvious pick. Their voices continue to rise in volume, and while I normally wouldn’t care who our team lead is, I don’t want to lose to Garrett and Nat because my team is filled with a bunch of loud-mouthed boys.  
“All right everyone, shut it!” I say, stepping up to the group.  
“What the hell, Goode? Nobody asked you to chime in,” Alek remarked snidely.  
“Tough, Rivers. I don’t give a shit who our captain is, but if you lot don’t shut your loud traps, the other team is going to know our whole strategy before we can even figure it out ourselves!” I hissed at him.  
“I nominate Matti as team captain,” Elle pipes up. Nora stands next to her and starts nodding her head in agreement.  
“I second that” Dakota chimes in. The Blackborne sophomores all look at him in shock while Alek stands silently and fumes, fists clenched at his sides.  
“You want to put a girl in charge?” one of the sophomore boys asks in disbelief.  
“Yes, I do,” Dakota states calmly. “She’s the smarter than the lot of you combined, and better than me. Heck, she’s probably the best agent out here. You’ve got a problem with that?” He asks and raises an eyebrow at the younger students. They all start shaking their heads, not wanting to upset Dakota. He can be a scary SOB when he wants to, geek-charming or not.  
“Thanks, Dax,” I murmur so only he can hear.  
“Okay, now with that settled, who should we choose as our POW?” Dakota asks, turning his attention back to me.  
“Well, their best spies are Garrett and Nat. If the way you Blackthorne boys act is any indication, I’d say they’re probably reluctant to trust Nat,” I say, smirking at the chagrined looks on the sophomores faces. “Garrett should be our pick-- it’ll slow them down even if they’ve already guessed we’ll take him as a prisoner.”  
“We’ve got two minutes left,” Elle chimes in. I glance at my own wristwatch and see that she’s right, and we’ve wasted enough time arguing already. I take a deep breath and step up to get our team together.  
“Alright, here’s what we do. Odds are they take me or Dax as their first POW. Whichever one of us is left will take our prisoner and find a secure spot as our holding cell.” I look around at our group and try to get a feel for the players on my team, but I don’t have the time to figure out what the new sophomores are capable of. I just hope they step up to the plate.  
“Alright, as much as it pains me to say this, Alek’s in charge of search and rescue. Take Elle as your second and...”  
“You're giving me a sophomore as a second, Goode? A Gallagher sophomore?” Alek interrupts.  
“Yes, I am. The only reason I’m not putting her in charge is that she has less experience with the guns than you do. I swear to god, you better listen to her. She’s top of her class and will kick your ass if need be” I tell him, sending him a glare that rivals Aunt Abby’s.  
“Fine,” he grumbles, “But if the pipsqueak can’t keep up, I’m dropping her and not looking back.”  
I glance over at Elle who meets my gaze with a sly smile. Elle may not look like the fiercest sophomore with her cute blonde bob, freckles and petite frame, but I know better. Sure, she’s the niece of an incredible Research and Development Gallagher alumnus, but Elle is Covert Operations through and through. She’ll be a brilliant field agent: quick reflexes, silent on her feet, and great intuition. I fully turn to face Alek, “That won’t be an issue, but if it makes you feel better, you can tell yourself that. Now, I’m pretty sure Garrett is going to get their team to take me as prisoner just to get on my nerves, so Dax will be in charge of organizing containment and defense. Dax, split up the rest of Blackthorne between offense and defense, and I’ll take care of my girls.”  
With seconds to spare we have our team divided into offensive and defensive lines. I still get annoyed when the other team chooses me as their first prisoner, but I feel a little better when I see how frustrated Garrett is that he was selected as the initial POW too. Abby tells us to swap sides after giving both teams colored bandanas to identify allegiances and sends the teams to their respective areas to set up a holding cell, telling us that the game officially starts in two minutes.  
After collecting my blue bandana and securing it to my bicep, I cross the space between our teams like I own the place, keeping eye contact with Garrett the entire time we approach each other. I send him a wink just before we meet, but at the moment I expected us to pass one another, he grabbed my arm and brought me to a halt.  
“I had hoped I would be the one guarding you, Goode” Garrett whispers, looking straight ahead.  
“Funny, I was just thinking the same thing, Newman,” I say while turning to study his face. Not an ounce of emotion leaked out of his stoic expression, not that I had expected any. Second to Noah, Garrett was probably the best student Blackthorne had seen in a decade.  
He gripped my arm more firmly and brought me even closer, his lips brushing against my ear as he whispered, “Pity. Now I’ll be stuck with Dax’s ugly mug instead of your gorgeous face to keep an eye on me.” He released my arm with a smirk, leaving me to stare after him with a confused expression on my face.  
I mean, sure, I’d crushed on Garrett when I first saw him my sophomore year. He was the cutest Blackthorne boy in his class, and every Gallagher girl on the CoveOps track would have killed to catch his eye. But that was the thing, no one ever caught Garrett’s eye. While the majority of our classmates spent their sophomore year flirting with one another, Garrett stayed aloof, never showing interest in any of the Gallagher girls in our class beyond what was necessary for assignments. Leslie Bodner made it clear to our class after that first week sophomore year that she believed Garrett swings for the other team. She said, and I quote, ‘No one has ever said no to me when I show interest in them, so there’s no way he’s straight.’ Gag.  
I couldn’t help but wonder if she was right though, because what straight, hormonal, adolescent boy would say no to someone as gorgeous and charismatic as Leslie? The answer is none. No boy says no to Leslie Bodner, which is why I’m even more confused about Garrett’s comment.  
So yeah, I may have been hot and bothered by the stunt Garrett just pulled if this was two years ago, but he and I were friends now. Noah had initially introduced us on the first day of CoveOps class, but Garrett and I had grown close after a class recon assignment a month into that semester. We were practicing in D.C. and I was teamed up with Garrett, Noah, and a Gallagher senior to track one of the Blackthorne staff members. There was nothing quite like getting stuck hiding in a small, dirty public bathroom stall together to start a friendship.  
Realizing I was still standing in the middle of no man’s land, I wiped my face of any leftover confusion and made my way over to Nat, who I had correctly guessed was in charge of keeping me secure. After placing me between a triad of trees holding up a rope to signify my ‘prison,’ Nat looks at her watch and says “Showtime,” slinging the paintball gun that was hanging over her shoulder into her arms in a ready position.  
Deciding I should probably get my own gun ready for battle, I reached my right arm over my left shoulder to grab it when I noticed my blue bandana wasn’t tied to my arm any longer.  
That asshat.  
Garrett must have snagged it when he grabbed my arm during the prisoner exchange. He’s in enemy territory with something that allowed him to blend in. As long as they couldn’t see his face, I highly doubt anyone on my team would intentionally shoot someone wearing an armband marking them as on the same team. The sophomores may be new, but they weren’t idiots; they wouldn’t shoot their own player. I just hoped Dax was vigilant and wouldn’t get distracted enough for Garrett to slip away and blend in. As long as he stayed secure with eyes on our POW at all times, we should be okay.  
Now, I just had to figure out how I was gonna get back to my team.


	6. POW pt. 2

I checked over my shoulder and made sure no one had snuck up behind me. Nat had left her position guarding me almost five minutes ago in favor of backing up her offensive line. I overheard a couple of younger Blackthorne boys on the red team complaining that a handful of their own was already captured trying to break Garrett out, only to find he had escaped before they could make it to him.  
A Blackthorne sophomore had taken Nat’s place, and as soon as I was certain she was out of range, I left the confines of the holding cell and shot the sophomore before he could blink. While he was distracted by his new paint-covered leg, I nicked his red bandana without him noticing and wrapped it around the lower half of my face. I took out my braid and tucked my unruly hair into a bun underneath the black hat Gracie gave me, hopefully throwing off anyone who glanced my way. That was all about four minutes ago, now I just needed to make it back to my team without anyone recognizing me.  
I worked my way through the trees in my immediate surroundings towards the sound of paintball guns firing en masse. At the edge of the tree grove, I used a particularly wide trunk to hide my body and peeked my head around to get a lay of the land.  
In front of me were five red-banded team members; two of them braced their backs against a large boulder sheltering them from the oncoming paintballs from my blue-banded teammates. The other three were spread along the field, bellies to the ground in the long grass and scopes up trying to act as snipers for their team, their only shelter the slightly sloping hills.  
I was getting ready to take out one of the targets using the boulder when the sophomore I shot earlier made his way out of the trees and into the clearing with his gun on his back and both hands behind his head. He was making his way to my team’s holding cell, but as soon as the red team noticed him I heard a loud curse from one of the snipers closer to my position.  
A closer look revealed the sniper was Nat, which means that if she was breaking form and trying to salvage an offense, there was a pretty good chance that the five people in front of me were the last members of the red team in the game ‘alive’ and uncaptured.  
All of a sudden, there was a short burst of static in my ear before I heard Nat’s voice say “I know you’re out there somewhere, Matti. I’m not going to make it easy on you-- so beware. I’m looking for you.” She must have activated the comms connecting our hats after she saw my former prison guard making his way over to my team. I don’t answer her, wary of my voice carrying over the short distance between us and giving my position away.  
Next thing I know, three of my teammates are hit and walking over the imaginary line separating the two teams. I hear Nat bark out orders for one of the guys hiding behind the boulder to escort them back to the prison and keep the new prisoners there so they don’t just walk right back out into the game. As they get closer I see Alek is one of the POWs, and if the look on his face is anything to go by, I’m extremely happy that I’m not waiting to greet him back in holding cell.  
I ditched my stolen red bandana, knowing that Nat was keeping an eye out for me anyway, and even with a red bandana, she would more than likely spot me in an instant. If she was calling the shots, then Garrett hadn’t made it back to this side yet and was more than likely hiding among my own team members.  
Locating Garrett myself would waste time and energy I could spend taking down the rest of his team, so I grudgingly dropped the idea of finding him and instead focused on making a game plan to take the rest of the red team out of the game.  
The red team had three prisoners currently, but because I missed the beginning of the battle I had no idea how many people from each side had been killed or how many (if any) prisoners my team was guarding. Not willing to risk losing points by killing the red team members in front of me, I resolved to take them prisoner with injury shots. The problem with that plan was that injury shots were significantly more difficult in this game; it was so much harder to hit a moving arm or leg instead of a person’s torso, especially from a distance.  
I briefly considered freeing the prisoners from my own team behind me, but by doing that I would not only give up my position, but also unleash an enraged and most likely unstable Alek, and I didn’t trust him to not go for the easier kill shots in a fit of rage. Backup would be nice, but I wanted to make sure my team won this thing, so in the prison my teammates would stay.  
I knew my best bet would be to start with the enemy closest to me so that if I was spotted, I’d have more time to reset and protect myself. Nat was close, but there was one sniper closer to me that I knew I needed to take out first. Spotting Nat a few yards away from the first, I made a mental blueprint, mapping out the subtle movements and adjustments I would need to perform in order to accurately hit my targets as quickly as possible.  
Resting my back against the tree, I allowed myself a moment to take a deep breath and slowly release it. Once I’d slowed my heartbeat, I swiftly turned around, bringing my scope up to my eye. With one more deep breath, I cleared my head and on the exhale I let my body take over the movements my mind had already mapped out.  
In a matter of seconds, four members of the red team were standing up with their arms above their heads and walking towards my team. I allowed myself a small smile to congratulate myself on a job well done, but before I could even register my own movements I was tucking and rolling away from my position.  
Staying low with my stomach on the ground I looked over at my previous position and see three paint splats on the tree I was just standing by. The shots had to have come from my team’s side of the field as none of the players I had just taken out would be able to hit the tree at the angle the shots landed. As soon as my brain registered the shots must have come from Garrett I heard Aunt Abby calling time and ordering everyone back into the barn for final scores and debriefing.  
With the game officially over, I rolled onto my back and closed my eyes, taking a second to catch my breath. I listened to the sounds of footsteps making their way to the barn while I regulated my breathing, the adrenaline from moments before still coursing through me. I heard a set of footsteps break from the pattern the others were following and listened to them leisurely approach my position on the ground. When the heavy boots got close enough, I wordlessly reached out an arm without opening my eyes, silently asking for assistance with getting to my feet.  
A large, calloused hand wrapped around my wrist and with a strength I could only ever dream of possessing, effortlessly lifted me to my feet. I stumbled a bit after the upheaval, and my green eyes opened up wide. I braced myself against the, admittedly, muscular torso in front of me, attempting to regain my balance as I closed my eyes again to fight off the dizziness from the sudden position change.  
“Woah there, short stuff,” Garrett said as he gripped my arms and steadied me. “Sorry, I sometimes forget how tiny you are.”  
I shook my head to clear it a bit before his comment registered. “Short stuff? We’re still really on this?” I asked with a disapproving glare. “We’ve been over this-- I’m really not short at all, Newman. Just because you’re descended from giants doesn’t make me short.”  
I became increasingly aware of our position and abruptly took a step back. I quickly removed my hands from Garrett’s chest as he released my arms from his steady grip, but not before making sure I wouldn’t stumble again.  
“Well, it makes you shorter than me, Goode, so short stuff does seem appropriate,” he replied with a smile, matching my stride as I turned away from him to walk towards the barn and the others. “What gave me away at the end, there? I had you locked in before you ninja-rolled out of the way,” Garrett asked with a puzzled look on his face.  
“I don’t know, really. I didn’t even see you,” I replied, his smirk growing wider when he realized I never actually saw his position. “In the back of my head I knew you had to be undercover with my bandana on my team’s territory,” I started. “But as for those last couple shots, I guess it was just instinct,” I finished with a noncommittal shrug.  
The truth is, I don't always remember what happens when I get behind the scope of a gun. Something about the feel of the metal beneath my fingers triggers this sort of, primal instinct within me. The adrenaline starts rushing through me and my body takes over, my ears block out any noise that doesn't pertain to my immediate safety and my vision automatically focuses on the targets in front of me.  
If I’m being honest, I'm terrified of who I become behind a gun; the lack of control is something I'm scared to admit to others, and it's something I'm even more scared to admit to myself. In my head now, I can picture exactly where Garrett was standing when he fired his gun and how fast the paintballs were coming at me but at the moment it actually happened, my body was processing things at a pace my mind couldn't keep up with.  
“Well Matti Goode, you are wicked with a gun,” Garrett chuckled. “I honestly had no idea you were that skilled behind a scope. I guess all that extra weapons training I saw you doing last year at Blackthorne came in handy.” I nearly blushed at the compliment, unused to being praised for the things I’d grown up being expected to accomplish with ease. “I really shouldn't be surprised, you're good at just about everything,” he muttered more to himself than to me. I succeeded in keeping my facial expression neutral and my skin pallor its usual pale hue as we entered the barn, the two of us joining Nat and Dax standing against the back wall.  
Once we were standing next to our friends, I got ready to listen to Abby recount the training exercise for everyone. “Alright boy and girls, it wasn’t completely terrible. I daresay a couple of you even impressed me…”  
While Abby continued to talk and pointed out some strengths and weaknesses each team showed, Uncle Ed was at the rollaway blackboard, tallying up each teams points in chalk. I really tried hard to tune into Abby’s spiel, but I knew she’d pull me aside and give me a rundown of my mistakes later anyways, so I gave into myself and stared at the chalkboard until Uncle Ed was finished with the tallies.  
When I saw the result I leaned over and rose to my tiptoes to whisper in Garrett’s ear a quiet but smug “suck it,” and then leaned the other way to fistbump Dax for a successful mission.  
It looked like my last year at Gallagher had officially started out on a high note. The problem with that? Good things never seemed to last very long in this life of mine.


End file.
